


Don't Walk Away

by AgenderMaine (AngelusErrare)



Series: Falling Towards The Feels [6]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:45:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9343238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelusErrare/pseuds/AgenderMaine
Summary: During the search for Epsilon, Wash is alone with the shell of his best friend.He can't help but hate it, and he can't help but wonder if anything remains of Maine.Prompt: "Don't you dare walk away."





	

"I fucking hate you, you know that?"

Maine doesn't answer. They never answer.

Maine has been dead for years.

 

Sitting in front of him, the Meta sharpens the brute shot with all the visible emotion of the boulder it sits on. Its helmet is on. That makes it easier to yell, makes it easier to hate it if Wash acts like it's just a suit.

An empty suit. Not one filled with the corpse of his ex best friend.

"You took everything from me that the Project hadn't already. Three of my best friends."

The whetstone pauses, silencing the grating of metal that has been the only sound for almost an hour. There are no animals near their camp to fill the air with calls and songs, no fire to crackle and pop between them, softening the area. Just the Meta. Sharpening that damn blade.

The golden dome lifts to watch him, an unnervingly familiar sight that used to give him confidence; now it just fills him with rage.

"Carolina. North. _Maine_." He sucks air for a minute before snapping, "Did you feel anything for the person you fucking destroyed? Whose body you're in?"

He doesn't want to see the face, but he still spits the order. "Take off the helmet."

There is a long pause before the Meta drops the whetstone to the ground and reaches up, fingers searching for the releases on the helmet. The hiss of air being released is Washington's warning to steel himself before it mechanically lifts the helmet up and away.

Maine's brown eyes and skin. Maine's scars, pale and defined, standing out along its cheek and across the bridge of its nose. But that look in the eyes isn't Maine. Maine's eyes were warm; the Meta's are cold and empty.

"Is there anything of them left in you?" Wash whispers, shaking his head. "Do you remember anything?"

It doesn't respond. Of course it doesn't. Just lets the helmet drop to the ground with the whetstone, staring back at him blankly.

It was a foolish question. So many years with so many AI in his head would have wrecked Maine's mind. The "counseling" with Price during recovery trashed whatever of them remained after that.

So why did he pick the Meta instead of the UNSC soldiers he could have brought along to track down Epsilon? Why did he pick this _thing_ over someone he could actually _work_ with?

 _Because I hoped,_ he thinks to himself. "I hoped there might be something of them still there."

He doesn't realize he's said that aloud until the Meta stands, mag-locking the Brute Shot in place on its back and bending to grab the whetstone and its helmet.

"Hey, where are you going?"

The growl doesn't mean anything, barely an acknowledgement he spoke. 

"Don't turn your back on me!" he snaps, watching it pause to replace its helmet. " _Meta!_ "

When it turns its attention back to him, he has to force his voice to stay steady. "Don't walk away. If there's anything left of Maine in you, don't you _dare_ walk away."

 

The Meta leaves.


End file.
